


Eile mit Weile

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Written for the Hetalia Big Bang 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-03 15:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: At what point do we begin to ask ourselves what we really want in life?Is it power? Money? Love?Ludwig has always had a clear goal in mind. Get through school, get his degree, go to work in his parents’ legal firm and take over from them once he’s old enough. Stable career, stable life. It’s all he’s ever needed.Through a shared passion, a chance encounter, and no small amount of dumb luck he meets Hans, who turns every notion he has ever held about the world on its head and challenges him to discover what he really wants.(DISCONTINUED)





	1. Batter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hetalia Big Bang 2017.  
> 'Eile mit Weile' is a German proverb.  
> Literal translation: “Make haste with leisure.”  
> 'While it is important to work hard toward success, in life we have to make time to smell the proverbial roses. If we become too focused on the end result, we miss out on all the fun there is to be had along the way.'

_A mixture of flour, liquid, and other ingredients that is thin enough to pour. The beginning of all things, a promise waiting to be fulfilled._

 

 

In the silence, the sound of dress shoes against tile echoed clearly.

Ludwig was in no true rush but still walked briskly, posture straight as an arrow, nodding to one of the cleaners as he fished the keys out of his pocket.

The tension seemed to roll right off of his shoulders as he stepped inside.

With the doors shut, it was easy to imagine that he was the only person left on campus. This was false, of course. There were maintenance men, there were professors, there were other students studying in all the nooks and crannies of the school. However, there was no dispelling the peace which seemed to settle over the kitchens once their inhabitants had left; a peace which invariably infected him, too, without him ever soliciting it.

He took a moment to simply stand there, revelling in the silence, before opening his eyes again. He only had an hour. He had cut back the length of these sessions already, but it was likely he would soon have to abandon them entirely to dedicate more time to his studies. And, of course, to work. The holidays were almost over, which meant their business would spike significantly.

His fingers curled into loose fists at his sides. He shook his head.

No. He had no reason to complain. The classes were manageable, as was the work. He was on track with his studies – was ahead of his schedule, in fact – and so, on days like these, he saw fit to allow himself this little luxury. An hour was more than enough, certainly more than he needed.

He tied the strings of his apron swiftly and headed towards the ovens, rolling his neck slowly and wincing as something popped. Today, biscuits. They would do for treats in the office for the next few days, if they didn’t all vanish at the hand of his brother before the first was out.

Bend over to preheat the oven. Lay his ingredients out on the counter, nice and neat. Into the bowl they go, precise measurements he knew by heart, and out comes the mixing spoon. Smooth, even strokes. He soon settled into a rhythm, letting himself focus solely on the task at hand.

Later, he would chide himself for his distraction.

Under normal circumstances, if he hadn’t been so caught up in his baking, he never would have missed the door opening. He would certainly have noticed the intruder before they called out, the sudden volume causing his hands to slip on the tray.

“Fucking hell, are those peanut butter?”

 

 

Hans was already walking before hearing an answer, inhaling deeply. Smelt like heaven. If heaven was made of chocolate and peanut butter; which, he had to admit, would be an afterlife he’d love a piece of. Looked really good, too, now that he was closer – perfectly round, and nicely browned on top.

Finally, his gaze flickered up to the baker of said biscuits.

He had a deep crease between his brows, the sort Hans’ mother always said came from too much time spent worrying and not enough spent living.

He also had a thumbprint of flour smeared across his left cheekbone, but Hans supposed it was rather rude to point that out.

Glancing back down to the treats, he snatched one from the tray while the other stared, leaning back smugly against the counter to eat it. Almost too easy, he didn’t even try to stop him – though, to be fair, Hans didn’t give him much of a chance.

“These are really good!” he praised around a mouthful of biscuit, brushing the crumbs away from the corners of his mouth. “You might be almost as good as me!”

Lips moving without sound, a confused blink. Finally, a reaction. “Almost?”

Hans smirked. “Well, yeah. Everyone knows I’m the best baker within a thousand kilometers,” he replied easily, shooting him a grin.

Finally seeming to recover from his apparent shock, the man frowned. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right!” Hans stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and stuck a hand out. “Hans Mikkelsen.”

The stranger glanced at it, but didn’t move. “No, who are you. Why are you here? The kitchens are closed to visitors after hours.”

“Could ask you the same question, then.” Hans smirked, but soon relented, shrugging. “Got permission from the faculty, just here to do some baking.”

The man huffed, whacking his hand away when he reached to grab another biscuit. “Well, Hans, you’re rather narcissistic,” he stated, not sounding amused.

“And you’re rather grouchy for a man in a pink apron.”

The other’s brash manner didn’t deter him in the least – hell, Berwald was even worse, and that guy was the most soft-hearted little shit Hans had ever met. He gestured toward the oven, where he could see a second tray through the glass. “You should watch the oven, you know. Biscuits are burning.”

He could have laughed at how instantly the man spun around, bending over to check. Shaking his head, Hans grinned at the scowl on his face as he straightened. “Gullible. You know, I still don’t know your name.”

“Ludwig. And you should be wearing a hair net,” he shot back, frown deepening when his response was met by another throaty chuckle.

“I’m not a student.”

“Then what are you?”

Hans shrugged. “A guy who likes peanut butter cookies?”

Ludwig shook his head and turned back around, ending the conversation. Hans watched him for a moment before following suit, not thinking much of their little exchange as he dumped his bag on the next counter. Not at first, anyway. Ludwig soon left, in any case, biscuits packaged away in neat little boxes, and Hans was distracted by his original goal. Fiddling with the settings on the ovens, he dug out his little notebook of recipes.

It was almost full, now. Everything from the half-baked – haha, get it! – ideas of his childhood, scribbled in unpractised cursive across the page, to neater and more complex recipes that he’d picked up or made up throughout the years.

He flicked to the page he’d bookmarked, double-checked that he’d brought everything he needed, and settled down to get started.  
In the end, he stayed there for almost three hours before he thought to glance at the clock, exclaiming with a curse and grabbing for the tap.

 

 

“Uh, Ludwig?”

Gilbert was leaning against the door frame, one eyebrow raised. Ludwig sat bolt upright, glancing over his work space quickly to make sure nothing was out of place – had he been falling asleep?

Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yes?”

His brother held up a manilla folder, looking at him as if he’d grown an extra limb. “These documents are all out of order.”

Ludwig’s breath caught. He composed himself quickly, reaching out to take the file. “They can’t be, I just finished them this afternoon.” But flicking through, he was faced with the sickening realisation that Gilbert was right.

He breathed out slowly, laying the folder open on his desk. “Sorry, I’ll fix these now.”

“Okay.” Gilbert stood there a moment, as if wanting to say something else. “I’ll take us home in half an hour. Dad says he’s staying here overnight.”

As soon as he was gone, Ludwig rested his head on one hand, frowning as he rubbed at his temples. To make such a mistake…

Perhaps it was merely exhaustion. He hadn’t been sleeping well, it was true, and in truth he had been looking forward to the afternoon. Baking always calmed him, as ridiculous as that was. However, he’d been forced to leave the kitchens early due to the unexpected arrival; somehow now he felt wound tighter than he had been after class.

He turned to the front of the folder, scanning the contents. This was no good. The words were swimming in front of his eyes.

 

 

Hans worked nights, as a bartender. It was the first and only job he had ever had: he picked it up when he was eighteen, fresh out of school and in need of income. A local bar which was only a couple of blocks away from the university campus – something he had always remarked upon with amusement, teasing Berwald that if his career in interior design dive-bombed, he could come and get shitfaced to forget about it.

He slipped into his shift five minutes late, apologetic grin on his lips in the face of his co-worker’s irritation.

It wasn’t the nicest place, in all honesty, but it put some money in his pocket.

Sometime between the dreams of his childhood and now, he’d grown up. A surprise, for sure. He’d stopped trying to grow his hair out and started drowning it in hair gel instead, finally got himself some clothes other than sports jerseys and board shorts. He’d finally managed to shed the last of his baby fat, too.

Still, one thing hadn’t changed.

A smile graced his lips as he glanced down at his notebook, hidden behind the bar from the rest of its customers. He flexed his fingers slowly, eyeing the crimson marks on the pads of his fingertips, and glanced around quickly before scribbling a note in the margins. _Invest in some better oven mitts. Burns hurt like hell._

It had been ten years, ten fucking years of school and work and life and growing up, but in all that time, he’d never given up on his dream.  
He loved the bar, and all, but it wasn’t exactly a lifetime career. Five years from now, ten years? He couldn’t see himself still standing there, telling jokes to a sobbing nineteen-year-old to cheer her up and mopping vomit up off the floor.

No, he knew where he really wanted to be. Where he would be. He was certain about that. He had the passion, he just needed to hone his skills.  
However, skill meant practice. Lots of it. His apartment wasn’t exactly kitted out for professional baking, and anyway, his roommate got pissy when he took over the oven for more than a few hours.

Luckily, being the town’s friendly bartender didn’t come without its uses. One of his regulars had a friend who knew the head of hospitality in the local university, and to cut the long story short he had managed to commandeer part of the kitchens for his use that afternoon. He hadn’t been expecting company. Couldn’t say he was disappointed, though – the guy was kind of cute, in a grouchy sort of way. And he did make really good biscuits. Hans brushed a thumb along the corner of his mouth absentmindedly at the thought.

He finally drove home around midnight, tired but content, still humming the last song under his breath. Unaware of the buildings he passed, unaware of the one upstairs room with light still pouring out from behind the curtains.

 

 

When Hans walked into the kitchen that day, Ludwig saw wild hair and an even wilder grin, hands shoved into pockets, a confident swagger in his step, and he thought troublemaker.  
(Hans saw clean, pressed trousers, tie in a neat black half-Windsor, flour on his cheek and a pair of puppy-print oven mitts, and he thought _perfection.)_


	2. Dusting

_This is a word which has two meanings in baking. Most commonly it means to sprinkle sugar or spices over food, as a decoration or to add flavour. A recipe may also ask you to 'dust' a work surface with flour or icing sugar before using it to knead or roll out dough and fondant icing, in order to prevent it from sticking._

****

Hans grinned to himself as he wiped down the wooden surface of the bar with a damp cloth, clearing away the glasses left behind by a gaggle of college girls as they left for the night's next destination. He danced his way over to the next customer with a grin and a joking wink all the while whistling lowly along with the music which crackled out of the speaker in the corner, the tune almost drowned out by the cacophony of conversation around the room.

He was working a double shift tonight, taking over for a friend. He would be there to watch over the sad drunks, the ones who clung to drink like a life raft and spilled their sorrows to the nearest person. The wrecks left by cheating spouses, rejected crushes, lousy break-ups: they all ended up here at some point or another. Booze is shit comfort, but comfort all the same.

Hans was always happy to lend them a listening ear. Misery loves company, after all, and sometimes all it took to lift someone's mood was cheerful conversation and a pat on the shoulder.

But that was for later. For now, he gave a quick glance over the bar, noticing a new customer sitting down at the far left - and oh, hello there. Hans did a double take, grin widening a little bit more, because damn. Just as he thought his night couldn't get any better.

He quickly checked that nobody else demanded his immediate attention, taking a glance at himself in the nearest reflective surface and fluffing up his hair with one hand - it was already perfection, of course, but no harm in checking - before sauntering over to where the newcomer sat and folding his arms atop the counter as he leant forward.

“Hey there, handsome,” he teased lightly.

Ludwig’s brows arched when their eyes met, then drew together in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I work here?” Hans’ lips were quirking upward. _You’re in my territory now._

Looking a little chided, Ludwig sat back. “Do you flirt with all your customers?”

“Only the cute ones.” Hans winked at him, delighting in his look of mortification. Ludwig was turning red; Hans wasn’t sure if this was from embarrassment or anger. Most likely both. He decided to let up. He was a paying customer after all.

Holding his arms up, palms forward, he chuckled. “Only kidding. What can I get you?”

“Beer. Pilsner, if you have any.” Arms crossed firmly, Ludwig let his gaze slide across the room.

“Guessing you haven’t been here before,” Hans said, passing him the drink. Ludwig confirmed this with a slight nod, taking a sip and letting his shoulders slope downward in relief.  He raised it to his lips again, draining it in a matter of seconds. Hans raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment, obligingly fetching him another. It vanished in the same manner as the first, and Hans sat back a little in curiosity.

You could tell a lot about a person’s state of mind by the way they drank, and Ludwig was drinking like a man on borrowed time.

Hans cleared his throat. “Well, what do you think?”

“Not bad.” He set the empty glass down, looking at it approvingly. “Good beer.”

Hans smiled. “Ready for another?”

Ludwig looked down at his watch. If Hans had been paying better attention, he would have noticed the way his shoulders tensed before he shook his head, laying both hands on the surface of the bar. “No, I’d best be heading home.” He stood, turning.

 Hans, seeing the danger a moment before it happened, reached out to stop him, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Because Ludwig took one step toward the door and collided with another man, a bit past tipsy and carrying enough beer to push him all the way to drunk, on his staggering way back to his friends.

Said man promptly upended the drinks over Ludwig’s shirt.

Hans pressed a fist to his mouth, biting down on the knuckles. Shit.

 He grabbed a cloth, hurrying around the bar and walking a little hesitantly over to the drenched man. He apologised to the second customer and promised him a free refill if he’d just wait a moment, taking the tray and directing him back over to his friends. Ludwig was simply standing there, looking a little stunned and staring down at his dripping clothes. He took the proffered cloth and glanced up when Hans spoke.

“Shitty first impression of the place, huh?”

A pause, then Ludwig laughed, looking as if this even surprised himself. “You could say that.”

“Let me pay you back for it, then.”

Ludwig looked up at him sharply, and Hans cracked a grin. “You free this Sunday? I’ll take you out for drinks, properly this time.”

For a moment, hesitation was clear on the other man’s face. Finally, he gave a short nod. A smile caught on his lips, just for a moment. “Okay.”

“Really?” He…hadn’t been expecting to get that far.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow, the smile vanishing. “Is there a problem with that?”

Hans waved his hands quickly. “No, no! Five pm all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good, cool. Uh, here.” He scrabbled around the bar for a notepad and pen, writing down his name and number as neatly as he could manage – which wasn’t saying much, as his handwriting was barely legible at best, and comparable to chicken scratch at worst.

But Ludwig just stared at it a moment before folding the page in half, slipping it into his breast pocket. “Thank you, Hans.”

He looked down at himself, attempting to straighten his sodden clothing, and their eyes met one more time across the bar before Ludwig turned and left.

That night Hans received a text at a quarter past midnight and grumbled out a curse as he rolled over to grab his phone. He still couldn’t help but smile, because _seriously_. Ludwig was formal even in text format, what a laugh!

 

The rest of the week was fairly uneventful.

Hans was off on Thursday and he took the time to clean up around the apartment, finding little of interest aside from a spoiled bottle of milk from two months back and a pair of rainbow socks of unknown origin. Friday was another late shift, but he had Saturday morning to sleep it off before heading down to the supermarket.

The rest of the week was business as usual.

As Ludwig had predicted, there was a steady influx of clients. His father was booked for the next month, just about; he double-checked the newest appointment and frowned at the schedule in dismay. Five court days within the next fortnight.

He had the least experience in the family, which meant he took on most of the secretarial work. Answering emails, updating the calendar, printing out court documents and organising the folders for easy use.

It came to Sunday, and Ludwig was certain he would have to cancel. He was already halfway through writing the message before Gilbert came up behind him, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “You were supposed to be gone ten minutes ago.”

“I’m going to cancel. We have a lot to get done.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “We always have a lot to get done.” He dangled a ring of keys in front of Ludwig’s face, dropping them into his lap. “Take my car, do whatever you need to do. I’ll hitch a ride home with dad.”

Guilt unfurling in his stomach, he nodded stiffly.

The drive was short. He didn’t recognise the address, and as he turned down the street Hans was nowhere in sight.

He pulled up at the kerb and got out, scanning the sidewalk, before turning toward the building and freezing in place. He checked the address quickly. This was not a bar. Ludwig looked back up at the façade of the restaurant and frowned.

Before he had time to get back in the car and drive off, a car horn sounded behind him. He watched Hans jump out, tugging his coat closer around himself to shield himself from the wind, and cleared his throat with a pointed glance toward the restaurant doors. “I agreed to drinks.”

 “This place has drinks,” Hans said, confident as ever. “And decent food, too.”

Ludwig folded his arms. “I’ll take your word for it.”

There was a pause, and then Hans’ face dropped into a sheepish smile. “Okay. I’ll be honest, I just thought you looked like you needed a good meal. It’s on me, promise.”

Ludwig was hesitant to agree. But he gave in after only a moment of deliberation, sighing quietly and gesturing for Hans to lead the way. A drink was a drink, and it was too late for him to be finding somewhere else to go. He couldn’t not go, either, not after he was already taking time away from work.

They settled down at a table in the back corner, sitting there a moment in mutual awkwardness before reaching for their menus. At least the food was good; they ordered and ate in comfortable silence.

Ludwig should have known the peace wouldn’t last. Five minutes in Hans leant across the table, the smile returning to his lips.

“So, what were you doing in the kitchens?”

Ludwig’s gaze dropped to the tabletop. “Nothing of interest.”

Hans wasn’t deterred, shrugging. “Should do it more often.”

A tight smile. “Thank you.”

Seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, Hans prattled on. “Seriously, though, you’re a pretty good baker. Ever thought about doing it for a career?”

“No.” Ludwig’s tone was clipped, and sharp enough that Hans’ grin froze in place.

“Well, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you planning on doing, then?”

Good, a topic he could talk about with confidence. “I am in my third year of university, working on my bachelor’s degree in Law. I plan to work as a solicitor in my father’s firm.”

Hans nodded, cracking a smile again. “Law, huh? Coulda guessed from the tie.” He flicked the offending piece of fabric lightly, and Ludwig folded his arms.

“What about you?”

“Well, I’m working at the bar.” Hans poked at his food, spearing a few salad leaves.

Ludwig shook his head, making an impatient noise. “After that. What do you plan to do for a real job?”

Hans paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Then his lips quirked upward, and he let out a laugh. “A real job, huh?”

“Yes.” There was nothing funny about that, was there? “Are you enrolled in university?”

“Nope. Started working straight out of school.”

“Don’t you have some sort of plan for your future?”

“Why would I need one?”

The silence hung between them, weighing down the air, until at last Ludwig cleared his throat. “I’ve finished eating.”

“Oh.” Hans looked down at his own plate, barely touched, and pushed it away. “Yeah, me too.”

 

They split the check. Ludwig insisted. For once, Hans wished the wait staff would take their time; before he had time to think of a better topic of conversation they were heading out the door, the distance between them too wide for comfort.

They were walking in silence, unease almost tangible in the air between them, when Hans suddenly stopped. Ludwig continued a few more paces before turning around to see the other man standing stock-still, looking up at an empty storefront with a small, almost wondrous, smile on his lips.

He walked back over to join him, glancing between Hans and the store. The man answered his question without looking at him, before he even had the chance to ask it.

“One day, I’m buying this place.”

Ludwig eyed the building, vacant windows giving a glimpse into the darkened interior. “What for?”

He wondered if the question was too personal, but Hans didn’t give him time to dwell on that worry.

“You asked me about my plan for the future, right?” He glanced over at Ludwig, briefly, then his gaze slipped down and away. “I want to open a bakery. Always have.” He flattened his hand against the glass, peering into the store for a moment. “Been saving up – few more years and I’ll just about be able to afford the down payment.”

He grinned a little crookedly and looked back over his shoulder. “It’s no fancy degree, I know, but I think it’s still worthwhile.”

Ludwig got the distinct sense he was being made fun of, and something unpleasant twisted in his gut.

Hans, not seeming to notice, finally stepped back onto the sidewalk. “All right, let’s go.”


	3. Folding in

_Folding in: This technique is used to gently combine a heavy, stodgy ingredient with a lighter, airy one._

_With a spoon, cut down vertically through the two mixtures, across the bottom of the bowl and up the side, while rotating the bowl slowly. Care must be taken with this motion in order to ensure success, however if done correctly the result will be light, fluffy, and delicious._

****

When Hans sauntered into the kitchens again the following Tuesday, it became clear that these afternoon visits were going to become a regular thing.

He made a beeline for Ludwig, grin stretching a little broader with each step. “Hey!”

“Afternoon.”

“Making anything interesting today?”

Ludwig shook his head. “Just bread. We’re running short at home.”

He stopped himself there, wondering why he’d seen fit to share even that titbit of information. It was hardly useful. But Hans seemed genuinely interested, still smiling as he leant one hip against the counter. “Nice! A friend of mine’s going hiking for a couple of days, so I’m making him some rolls and damper to take.”

“Hiking?” It had reached nearly fifty degrees the week before. Ludwig had spent most of it in front of the air conditioner, feeling sticky and exhausted and altogether disgusting. Anyone who would willingly go outside in that surely had to be inhuman or insane. Possibly both. ~~~~

Hans chuckled lightly. “Yeah, up around the blue mountains. He’s a real wilderness nut.”

“Ah.” It fell silent again. Ludwig glanced back at the bowls of dough, where he had left them to rise by the window. “I should…get back to this.”

“Right.” Hans stood there a moment longer before realising that was his cue to leave, turning around hurriedly and heading to the next oven over. He rolled up his sleeves and started pulling containers out of his bag, laying a small leather bound notebook open in front of him; he glanced up again as Ludwig watched, and their eyes met for one tense moment before Ludwig turned around and resumed his watch of the dough.

Almost an hour later he was stooping to pull the finished loaves from the oven, laying them out on the racks to cool. Hans was already washing up, whistling a tune under his breath that Ludwig didn’t recognise.

He wandered over once he was done, that ever-present smile tugging at his lips. “Looking good!”

Arm half-inside the oven as he wiped it down, Ludwig nodded. “Thank you.”

Hans looked hopefully toward the sourdough loaf cooling on the counter and Ludwig reluctantly straightened, picking up a knife to cut him a thick slice.

“Thanks!” Hans took it eagerly, breaking off a piece to stuff in his mouth with an exaggerated moan of pleasure. “Always tastes best warm, doesn’t it?”

Ludwig nodded. He found it hard to disagree, cutting himself a slice and eating slowly.

“Think you might be better at this than the biscuits,” Hans commented after a beat of silence, voice a little muffled by food but thankfully blocked by the back of his hand.

“You’re welcome.” Ludwig nodded toward where Hans had been working, noting the cooling racks full of rolls and small balls of damper. “You’ve been busy, I see.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hans glanced over his shoulder and then shot Ludwig a grin, racing over to the bench. “Come try one!”

Ludwig brushed his hands off in the sink before following orders, sizing up the result of Hans’ labours. He couldn’t help but be subtly impressed. The rolls were perfectly formed, golden brown on top, the hard-crusted sort that took up little room and could be carried about for a few days without becoming flattened or stale. Hans gestured to the tray and he reached for one, breaking it in half with a satisfying crunch and taking a bite.

“It’s good,” he admitted.

Hans grinned broadly. “Of course it is. I told you, I’m a master at this.”

“Not self-satisfied in the least,” Ludwig muttered, surprising himself a little. But Hans only laughed, leaning back against the counter.

“You’ve used that one already,” he pointed out, feet tapping against the tiles.

“Yet you don’t deny it.” Another first: he found himself smiling just a tad, watching Hans roll his eyes and push off from the bench.

“Smartass. Alright, I’m going to get this stuff packed away.”

Ludwig glanced back at his bench. “Yes, I should do the same.” Yet he paused there a moment longer, eventually clearing his throat again. “Tell your friend to enjoy himself.”

“Will do,” Hans replied, not looking up.

Ludwig nodded, turning on his heel. Within ten minutes the kitchens were vacant once again.

 

The third week, Hans made brownies. The sickly-sweet scent made its way down to Ludwig before they were ten minutes in the oven, and he couldn’t help the way his stomach growled. He’d skipped lunch that day, having to rush down to the office briefly to explain the change he had made to their filing system, and was regretting the decision immensely.

His discomfort didn’t go unnoticed, however, if the napkin-wrapped gift left on his counter fifteen minutes later was any indication. Ludwig hesitated to take it, but Hans was already packing the rest of the batch away.

It was delicious, though he confessed he ate too quickly to properly enjoy it.

Hans shot him a grin when he turned around to find the counter-top clear, however, so he supposed the message had gotten across.

 

By the fifth week it was already too late: without Ludwig thinking or caring to notice, they had settled into something of a routine. Ludwig would leave a lecture at midday, take his lunch in one of the nearby establishments, and return to the campus at precisely one pm to begin the afternoon’s work. Hans would arrive after him; sometimes by ten minutes, sometimes half an hour. Eventually Ludwig asked a question or two and learnt that Tuesdays were his one night off work; aside from bartending, he held a second part-time job bagging groceries in the closest thing to a supermarket their small town had.

“Helps pay the rent,” Hans had told him, chuckling lightly.

When he arrived, they would exchange greetings and get to work.

Hans would begin to clean up at a quarter to three while Ludwig, having tidied as he went, could afford a few minutes longer. In any case both bench tops would be cleared by the hour, and they would part ways.

It was ridiculous, this odd coexistence. Yet Ludwig found himself not hating it as much as he first thought. The disruption was not preferable, certainly, but he could work around it. Hans always attempted to spark conversations between them, while Ludwig preferred to work in silence; however, Hans seemed liable to talk until the sun set without minding that the exchange was extremely one-sided, and so this suited him well enough.

He didn’t protest when Hans wandered over to taste-test that afternoon’s work, and if he himself began to make a few extra on Tuesdays then neither of them commented on it.

Hans traded him back, even if he never asked for it: pastries and scrolls and shortbread, something new every week. He was good, Ludwig had to admit. Very good. He supposed he could tolerate the invasion of his space, if this was his compensation.

Except it wasn’t just the baking, either. Somehow, he’d managed to gain a boisterous and exceptionally loud new…friend? Acquaintance? He wasn’t sure.

All he knew is that it was exhausting just to be in his presence, making the entire reason for Ludwig being there void.

Give him time, he supposed. He’d lose interest soon enough, and Ludwig could reclaim his peaceful life.

He didn’t like the way that thought twisted sour in his stomach.

 

“Busy with paperwork, I see,” Ludwig himself commented one Tuesday afternoon, watching Hans hunch over a stack of crumpled papers with that same worn notepad splayed over his lap.

“Organising my recipes,” Hans confirmed, tapping the end of the pen against his teeth.

Hm. Ludwig couldn’t fault him for that. Still… “Why did you come here to do that? Surely you could work just as well from home.”

 “Well, I couldn’t miss seeing my favourite lawyer.”

He glanced up, grinning, and Ludwig scoffed. “Is that so?”

“Yep!” Hans paused. “Oh, by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Despite his casual phrasing, there was an earnest look in Hans’ eyes which made Ludwig nervous. He held up a finger to halt him and walked to the sink to wash the flour off his hands, feeling Hans’ eyes on his back the entire way. Finally he turned around, nodding shortly. “Okay, continue.”

Hans nodded in return, taking a couple of quick breaths as his gaze slipped down and off to the side. Suddenly, his natural slump against the counter seemed rigid, tense. “You know, when I get my bakery-” and there it was again, that _when_ , that unending confidence which made Ludwig’s jaw tighten with irrational anger, “it’s going to be pretty hard to run the place by myself.” A smile broke across Hans’ lips as he continued, drawing on the edge of the page with one hand and leaning a little closer. “Could use a partner. I’ve seen what you can do, it’s honestly amazing. I think -”

“No.”

The pen stilled. “That was quick. You can, uh, take time to think about it-”

Ludwig took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t need to. Thank you, but my answer is no.”

“Ah. Cool.” Hans looked down and away, shoulders slumping a little. All was still for one long moment, then he abruptly turned back to his papers with a smile fixed on his lips. “Never mind, then!”

Ludwig opened his mouth – to do what? Say sorry? It was a ridiculous thought, and he dismissed it immediately. He had nothing to apologise for.

 He stared at Hans a moment longer before heading back to his oven, shoes suddenly too loud against the echoing tile. No, if anyone should apologise then it would be him. Making such jokes…

They spent the remainder of the hour in silence.

Ludwig was certain that would be it. No doubt Hans would be over this temporary slump by the next week, back to his usual ostentatious self. Yet even after they left for their respective homes, even as Ludwig called clients and organised his father’s schedule for the following week, Hans’ face remained fixed in his mind. The furrowed brows, the downcast eyes, the brief look of vulnerability that flickered across his expression before he turned away. There was no word for it but…devastation.

Why? They hardly knew each other, it had been a matter of weeks since they first met (eight weeks, some part of Ludwig’s brain reminded himself, two full months, but that was still barely anything, surely not enough for them to be considered more than coincidental acquaintances). In addition, Hans knew he was pursuing his degree. He couldn’t have honestly expected him to say yes.

Yet it seemed like he had.

Ludwig closed his eyes, massaging his temple. The situation was giving him a headache. 

Never mind it. He could do what he liked, but Ludwig would have no part in it.


	4. Beating

_When making a light sponge, the ingredients must first be beaten: rigorously (and often quite violently, too!) mixed through by hand or machine. The purpose of this is to make sure the ingredients are combined properly, and to include air; this is how cakes become light and fluffy._

_It’s a little odd, in a way, how such distress is needed to shape something so beautiful. Perhaps even a little reminiscent of life itself._

 

When Ludwig entered the kitchens the following week, he found himself alone. He thought nothing of it at first, simply settling into routine - but half an hour passed, forty minutes, and Hans still had not arrived.

He fought back the growing sense of unease, refocusing on his work. Despite this his hand kept shaking on the piping bag, nearly ruining the design he was trying to create, and he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Slowly, don’t become impatient. One more loop, nice and gentle-

There.

Ludwig winced slightly as he straightened, back aching from being bent over for so long. He placed the piping bag down and hesitated only a moment before looking back at his creation, the tension melting from his shoulders. Pleased, he held the cake up to the light, turning the tray so he could study the neat swirls of frosting from all angles. Perfect.

He nearly dropped the tray when a loud voice sounded out from behind him.

“So you can smile! I was beginning to worry you were broken or something.”

The smile slipped off Ludwig’s face immediately as Hans sauntered over, looking every inch like the cat who got the cream.

Ludwig glanced at his watch. A quarter past two. Setting the cake back down carefully, Ludwig folded his arms. “Of course I can smile. I’d say the better question is if you ever stop.”

Hans shrugged, crouching down beside the bench to admire his work. “The way I see it? When shit happens, you can come out smiling or crying,” he replied, eyes fixed on the cake. “If you stay happy, then nobody can make you upset. Who’s the real winner there?”

Ludwig stared. Hans smiled. “Got you.”

He huffed, straightening a little and remembering his annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“Oh.” Hans’ smile slipped into confusion, and he grabbed Ludwig’s wrist to peer at the time. “Right. Sorry, I just flew back in today – I headed back to Denmark for a few days, visiting family.”

 “Nothing bad, I hope?”

Hans shook his head. “No, no, everything over there's great!"

There was a pause. The 'unlike here' went unsaid, but Ludwig read it in the tight pinch of Hans' smile. He swallowed tightly, resisting the urge to avert his gaze. But then that grin was back to its usual brilliance, and Hans pushed himself to his feet.

"What, did you miss me?” He raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “It’s only been an hour – can’t say I’m not flattered.”

Ludwig scoffed and turned back around, reaching for his cake box. “Just get on with it.”

“Always with the grumpiness,” Hans complained, giving an exaggerated sigh. “One of these days I’m going to figure out what’s behind that scowl, mister. Just wait and see.”

Clipping the lid shut tightly, Ludwig glanced at him briefly. “Good luck with that.”

Hans’ laughter followed him out to the hall.

 

The next week brought Hans storming into the room, grinning and waving a finger at Ludwig. He looked so much like a caricature of a mad scientist that Ludwig almost expected him to yell “Eureka!” when he slammed both hands down on the bench top; instead, what came out of his mouth was,

“Dreams!”

“Dreams?” Ludwig raised an eyebrow, setting the rolling pin aside to grab a fresh ball of dough. He laid it on the counter, dusting the surface lightly before beginning to roll it out.

He could see Hans’ grin out of the corner of his eye as the man hopped up onto the counter top, practically exuding energy. “Yeah, dreams! I want to know what yours are.”

“You know already. I’m becoming a solicitor.”

Hans shook his head. “No, no, not like that. Something silly. Something impossible!”

Ludwig paused, then returned to his task with more vigour. “Who says I have any?” he rebuffed.

But Hans wasn’t taking no for an answer, it seemed. “Come on, everyone wanted to be something crazy when they were a kid. A magician, a lion tamer, a superhero. There’s got to be something.”

“I’ve never wanted something so unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic.” Hans laughed, loud and happy. “You know, I really don’t get you sometimes.”

There was a short beat of silence, and then;

“What does a solicitor even do, anyway?”

“Well.” Ludwig hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “My family specialises in business and family law. That encompasses everything to do with opening and operating a business, including all of the workers and management, as well as cases to do with family units."

He paused, ready to stop there, but Hans gestured for him to go on.

“For the former, that means that I’ll mainly be advising businesses: drawing up documents, checking new policies to make sure they abide to the law and writing up plans for their future. I will be involved with government inquests when they affect my clients. For the latter, we are hired to advocate for our clients in matters such as custody battles and familial disputes.”

“And that’s it?”

Ludwig stared at Hans for a moment. “‘That’s it?’”

Hans shrugged and leaned back against the counter, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. It just seems really dry, you know? I don’t get how you- how anyone could be happy like that.”

Ludwig suppressed the childish urge to roll his eyes. Of course Hans wouldn’t understand. Office work was a far cry from bar-tending, it required a tenacity and focus which he quite obviously did not have.

As if reading his thoughts, Hans’ mouth split into a grin. “Never mind. Guess I’m too much of a free spirit for that office life.”

“I’d have to agree.” The conversation slipping away from himself, Ludwig began to relax again. It wasn’t until much later that night, thinking over the day’s work, that he allowed himself to consider the question once more.

It was just like Hans had said: everyone had dreams when they were a kid. Before they grew up, before they learnt better. Ludwig was no exception.

He’d wanted to be a baker. Always had.

He couldn’t just tell Hans that, though. It would lead to far too many questions, far too many ‘why not’s. Part of him worried he wouldn’t have an answer.

He’d never been a good cook. Cooking required experimentation, creativity, a keen taste for how much of one spice or another.

But baking, baking could be calculated. It could be noted down and reproduced without fault. It was predictable, you knew exactly what would happen with each step and could relax into the familiar motions.  It calmed his mind and body in a way that was almost therapeutic, and despite all reason it brought the largest of smiles to his lips.

It was like an addiction, he supposed. He kept all of his supplies in the trunk of his car, spent an hour or two baking on the afternoons when he wasn’t working at the firm. He gave the results to Gilbert, who ardently complained that he was never going to keep his ‘lady killer figure’ with Ludwig feeding him like that – while stuffing his mouth full of treats, of course.

Yes, he supposed it could be called an addiction. One he’d had control over until now; or, at least, so he had thought.

He tapped light fingers against his thigh, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Hadn’t it always seemed so simple? His life was practically predetermined for him: get through school, get a good grade, go to university and get his degree, work hard until it was time to retire. Perhaps settle down with someone at some point, start a family. Or perhaps not.

Shouldn’t that be enough?

He had been content. He was sure of it. Things had been fine, more than fine! But now…

Now, Hans brought disruption. He brought questions _._

Why the man even kept coming back, Ludwig could not understand. He would be rebuffed, only to immediately try again with that same dumb grin on his face. By this point, Ludwig was wondering if the other had some sort of underlying masochistic tendencies.

But maybe he did to. Because for whatever reason, Ludwig was finding himself – god forbid – actually looking forward to their little conversations.

 They were so different: interests, careers, lives. Baking was the one thing they agreed on, their little patch of common ground. And yet, there was still something. That indescribable pull, that curiosity which kept bringing his thoughts back to the other.

And so, they stuck to that. They discussed the best recipes for shortbread across the kitchen, dunking homemade biscuits into afternoon coffees and making plans to test them out which were really just plans to meet up again, but neither of them said this aloud.

Slowly, like clouds disappearing, new avenues began to open up.

They both had a passion for animals. Ludwig spoke of the family dog when prompted, a huge Border Collie who slept at the foot of his father’s bed and had mastered every trick they taught her but still shied away from walking down stairs. In turn, Hans chattered about the cat he’d had when he was a kid. Up until her death, the scraggly old girl had refused to leave his side.

Both of them had been involved in a multitude of sports in their youth, and placed high value on athletics in general, though Ludwig scoffed at the obsession which the media had towards it. Didn’t mean he wasn’t decked out in black, red and yellow beside everyone else when Germany was playing, however.

One thing after another, little pieces slotting into place. They started meeting up outside the university, once in a while, little things like coffee runs when Hans had been working late or carpool shopping trips when Gilbert was using the family car. Things were getting better between them, and Ludwig noted those small differences down in his mind.

Of course, that was when everything fell apart completely.

They were having lunch, taken in a café not two doors down, and Hans seemed to have taken a liking to asking him the most ridiculous questions he could muster.

A grin, one finger tapping triumphantly against the tabletop: here came another one. “What would you do if you were on a deserted island?”

“Make a boat,” he answered simply, taking a bite of his burger.

“There isn’t any driftwood though, or trees.”

“Starve.”

Hans laughed and shook his head. “Be creative!”

“Make a sandcastle, then starve.”

He looked a little put out, however it didn’t deter him for long. “Classic one - how about if you won the lottery? What would you do then?”

“Commend myself for my extraordinary luck, considering I never enter it.”

He groaned. “All right, smart-ass. Wait, seriously? Never?”

“Never.”

Hans shook his head, but Ludwig cut him off before he could try again. “What is your obsession with these hypotheticals?”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re inane, and clichéd.”

“Want me to stop?”

There was a moment’s pause, then Ludwig gave a short shrug. Despite himself, his lips curled into a small smile as the other man dissolved into sniggering.

It took Hans a couple of minutes to think of his next question; when he finally spoke, he looked almost thoughtful.

“Hey, might be a weird question, but why are you doing Law?”

Ludwig should have known the question was coming; in reality, it was surprising that it had taken Hans this long. But still his hands slipped, fork clanging loudly against his plate. It was a moment or two before he could respond. “It seemed like the logical choice, my parents and brother are in the profession after all.”

“You like it, though, right?”

He didn’t look up, but he knew his hesitation could be marked in the pause of his breath. “Why would you think otherwise?”

Hans shrugged, rocking onto the back legs of his chair. “I don’t know, the way you talk about it…doesn’t seem like you have any real passion for the course.”

“And I’m supposed to take advice from the man working in a bar?”

Hans cracked a smile, deflecting the insult easily. “Well, I’ve got a friend who’s a janitor. You could always ask him.”

Ludwig made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t you ever take anything seriously?”

The smile slipped off Hans’ face.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s me, taking this seriously.”

Something uneasy twisted in Ludwig’s gut as Hans sat up straighter, voice void of its usual enthusiasm. “I’m not as well off as you are, yeah, I get that. I’m not doing some fancy degree. But that doesn’t mean I’m any less intelligent, or less motivated, or whatever else you want to call me to justify how much of a shithead you’re being. You know what I think?”

Ludwig scowled, the reply coming before he could halt it. “Oh, do enlighten me.”

Hans glared. “I think you don’t want a friend, or an acquaintance. You want a mindless robot who agrees with everything you say. That’s your world: little cookie-cutter men and women, playing about exactly how they’re supposed to. Well guess what, buddy, real people don’t work like that.”

There was a beat of silence, and Hans seemed to realise what he had said. “Shit. Sorry, that was- I didn’t mean to sound-”

“Don’t bother.” Ludwig’s eyes and voice were as cold as nails; he praised himself silently for not wavering. “I suppose I’m just, what was it, ‘a cookie-cutter lawyer’?”

Hans winced. “Ludwig, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Ludwig stared at him for a long moment. “No. No, I don’t think I know that at all.”

Hans sighed, shaking his head, and cast his gaze toward the ceiling. His hands curled into fists where they rested on the table, jaw tight. “Actually, I take that back. Fuck you.”

His voice was rising, drawing the attention of the tables around them. “You know what? I’m doing something with my life. I’m working toward something I love, that I’m passionate about, and I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

The chair legs scraped horribly against the floor as he stood. Ludwig opened his mouth to reply, say something, anything, but the door was already swinging shut behind him.


	5. Curdling

_A creamed cake mixture may curdle if the eggs are introduced to the mix too quickly, or if they are too cold, easily ruining an otherwise wonderful dish._

_This is not the end, however. The problem can be fixed by carefully adding a tablespoon of flour and stirring through._

 

“Fucking piece of shit, stuffy bastard. ‘Real job,’ yeah, I’ll give you a real fist up your ass.”

Nils barely quirked an eyebrow as he watched Hans stomp about, his hands curled into trembling fists at his sides.  He knew the words were not honest, merely a product of the man’s anger, and so he didn’t comment on them. Let him rage, he’d wear himself out soon enough.

As if confirming this, Hans gave a heavy sigh and dropped down onto the couch beside him. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, still muttering darkly under his breath.

Nils took that as his cue to proceed.

He flipped the magazine he had been holding shut and dropped it off on the side table, turning back to the fuming man. “Have you spoken to him since?”

“Why should I bother? He’s an arsehole.”

Nils sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Stubborn as mules, the both of you,” he mused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hans challenged, voice rising, but Nils raised a hand to silence him.

“Just…talk to him. Without fighting. Okay?”

Hans made a noncommittal noise, but shifted so their shoulders knocked. He looked around the room, slowly deflating. “Fine, I'll try. Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way. Didn’t think my roommate wanted to deal with my shit.”

“Oh, and I do?” There was a mocking drawl to Nils’ voice, but he looked up at Hans and reclined against his side. This was almost nostalgic, in an odd sort of way, bringing back memories of study days which turned into movie nights and midnight phone calls to rant about one thing or another.

“You’re my friend, you don’t get a choice.” Finally, a slight smile. Nils flicked his cheek chidingly and closed his eyes.

“Just pick a movie, dork.”

 

The courtroom was cold, a faint draft coming in from some unknown source. Ludwig’s head was aching as he listened to the coroner’s closing address, crisp trousers chafing the inside of his thighs.

“The goal of this inquest has been to lay out the facts – what happened, why, and how – so that those with a special interest in the events may understand how they occurred and those responsible for preventing recurrences may learn how best to approach that. It is to my understanding that there have been worries about hindsight bias in this matter-”

Gilbert let out a chuckle from Ludwig’s left, nudging him in the side. “Got that right.”

“-It is not our role to hold bias toward any of involved parties, nor to ascribe blame. Commentary to the contrary is either mischievous or ill-informed. I acknowledge and thank the assistance of the court staff and sheriffs. Finally, I wish to thank the lawyers for their contributions, as well as the assistance of those at the bar table and those assisting me. I thank you all.”

Ludwig took a deep breath as the coroner finished speaking, letting it out slowly. Before he had the chance to move Gilbert rolled his shoulders out and stood, watching the solicitors pack away their things with both thumbs sticking out of his pockets. He seemed entirely at peace here in the courtroom, the sharp eyes and clean suit making him look more like their father in that moment than he ever did outside.

Ludwig tore his eyes away from the sight to instead watch their father tidy away his papers, straight-backed and stern. Somehow, this only made the sick feeling in his stomach worse.

Gilbert pushed him in the direction of the door; as Ludwig turned, he abruptly met the gaze of a witness. One of the paramedics who had responded to the call, her shoulders square and strong but her eyes still pained after the account she had given.

Gilbert prodded him in the shoulder again. “Ludwig? Come on, let’s head out. I’m starving.”

Yes, hunger. That must have been it.

He nodded to the woman stiffly and moved past, the room suddenly feeling far too cramped.

Ludwig cleared his throat once they reached the hall, standing off to the side to wait and resisting the urge to check his watch. “Gilbert, I know you and father are having lunch, but I’m afraid I might have to decline.”

“Yeah, I know, you’re headed down to the university today.” Gilbert smirked, and Ludwig averted his eyes before he could see the derision there. “Have fun.”

Ludwig swallowed tightly and nodded again, leaving at a brisk walk which quickened as soon as he was out of sight. He glanced at the time once he reached the street. Twelve fifty-five. Still enough time to head to the university, good. Hans would be wondering why he was late.

He faltered mid-step, hesitating just a moment before continuing to walk.

Would Hans even be there?

Ludwig’s heart was pounding. He had to be. He would be.

This was absurd. Why should he even care?

The thought cut him short, and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

Why did he care?

Hans had been nothing but a pest: intruding where he wasn’t wanted, taking up valuable space and air. Life was not fun and games, and yet this man, this idiot - he approached it in the manner of a child in a playground, with seemingly no comprehension of the consequences of his flippancy.

Only months after meeting and he’d shoved that ridiculous proposal onto his shoulders - and then he had had the gall to get angry at him for refusing! Ludwig had been ushered out of the café by wait staff soon after the man left, humiliation burning at his back, and though it had never been spoken aloud he knew that he would not be welcome there any time soon.

And for what? Some idle, stupid idea that Ludwig would abandon everything he’d worked for all these years to join him.

Ludwig had his whole life ahead. A career, a path, a world. He was fine, he was happy without interference. Why couldn’t Hans understand that?

But more than that, more than anything, what irritated him the most was the smiling. Simply put, Hans never stopped.

Wide, open smiles, hands cupped around his mouth to yell out a greeting from across the supermarket or the other side of the street.

Laughing grins when they stood there in the afternoons by the ovens, a cheeky glint in his eyes, snatching some of each batch away.

Little half-smiles when he was baking, almost to himself, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he adjusted the piping bag.

Ludwig didn’t understand how someone could be so genuinely happy at absolutely everything, so enthralled by life itself. It was awe-inspiring.

It was infuriating.

Except…

They had run into each other during the week. In the supermarket, just a passing glimpse as Ludwig walked by the frozen food aisle and Hans glanced up from examining a box of lasagne.

In that moment, as their eyes met and held, Hans’ smile had been far too wide. Strained, fixed in place but fraying around the edges.

Ludwig had never known a smile could hurt so much.

No. This was ridiculous.

His thoughts were in turmoil as he marched down the street, yanking his blazer closer around him so harshly it threatened tearing at the seams. His mind was flipping violently between sadness and rage, a debate which had been going on for the past six hours as he sat in the courtroom. He decided anger was better twenty metres from the door of the kitchens, and let his hands curl into fists at his sides.

The anger died in his throat when he stepped inside. Hans was not there. The room was empty and utterly silent as his footsteps died away, something which had never once bothered him yet that afternoon felt eerily uncomfortable.

When the doors swung open at half past one he glanced up sharply, watching Hans stride across the room with his usual confidence. He had that same awful smile on his lips, grocery bag in hand and a tea towel slung his shoulder.

To Ludwig’s even greater surprise, he didn’t attempt conversation. Just found himself a bench a few rows down and pulled out his things, whistling softly under his breath. Didn’t even spare a glance his way.

Yet somehow that was even more annoying than if he had, because Ludwig couldn’t recall an afternoon without some sort of exchange between them, and he did not know when that had become a habit rather than a disturbance.

This continued, the disruption from their routine building up in tension between Ludwig’s shoulders, until at last it snapped.

“Hey.”

Hans’ voice was terse, but it filled the room. Ludwig stiffened, hand slipping on the piping bag and drawing a mess of icing along the top of the cupcakes. He moved to fix it, paused, then took a slow breath and placed the bag down. “Hello.”

When Hans continued to stand there, unmoving, he tried again. “Why did you come? I thought…”

“You thought right.” Ludwig flinched a little, looking down, but Hans continued before he could speak. “You’ve been nothing but an arsehole to me this entire time, and I’m honestly sick of it.” A pause, a sigh. “But I decided that being an even bigger arsehole wouldn’t fix anything. So here I am. Talk.”

He looked up, and Ludwig nodded. Swallowing tightly.

“I understand that I wasn’t as kind to you as I should have been. Know that it was never my intention to make you feel inferior, or-”

“This is exactly what I meant.” Hans rubbed at the crease of his brow with one hand, gesturing irritably. “Could you, I don’t know, cut out that crap and talk to me like an actual person for once?”

Ludwig groaned, suddenly remembering his vexations. “I’m trying to apologise!”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of it!” There was silence for a moment and then Hans sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Look, it’s alright. You just…hit a bit of a nerve there, I guess. You’re not the only one who’s said that stuff to me, you know.”

He kicked at the tiles, frowning lightly. “Thought I was immune to it by now. Guess I’m not.”

Ludwig swallowed tightly, looking suitably chided. “Would you…like to try all of this again?”

He marked the hesitation on Hans’ face with a stab of worry, and felt relief hit him like a wall when he cracked the smallest of smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that.”

As the silence tipped into discomfort, Hans jerked a thumb back toward his oven. “Want to come try?”

“Ah, yes.” Ludwig followed him over to where an irregularly-shaped loaf sat on the cooling rack, crust a deep brown and by the looks of things still warm to the touch.

“It’s rye,” Hans explained, bracing one hand on top of the loaf so he could cut them a slice. “Sourdough. I prepared the dough this morning so I could bring it here to bake; you can’t get anything this good in stores.”

“Still narcissistic as ever.”

Hans laughed. “Yeah, don’t expect that to change. The recipe’s one mum taught me – everyone knows it back home, but you can’t get it here. At least, not like this.”

He tore off a piece and stuffed it into his mouth, offering Ludwig the rest.

It was good, dense and still moist from the oven. It took Ludwig only a minute to realise that Hans was watching him, chewing on the inside of his cheek with a conflicted expression. He looked over, clearing his throat. “Out with it.”

Hans rubbed at the back of his neck, gesturing vaguely in mid-air. “I do want to meet up, before next week I mean. I kinda feel like we’ll psyche ourselves out of…whatever this is before then, and I really don’t want to go back to the yelling.” He shrugged a little awkwardly before continuing, sounding almost hopeful. “This weekend, maybe? I’ve got the afternoon shift Sunday but Saturday’s a day off, I’ll just be running errands in the morning.”

“I’ll be working at the firm most of the weekend,” Ludwig replied. “We’re in the middle of an extremely important matter, three days in court this week and another two the next for that alone.”

Hans nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Right.”

Ludwig hesitated. “Saturday night?”

A wide smile spread across Hans’ lips.

“Saturday night it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coroner's court is where matters relating to deaths are held. In some cases an inquest will be held, where the Coroner considers evidence to determine the identity of the deceased and the date, place, manner and cause of death, often with the goal of finding out what was at fault and preventing similar deaths in the future. The more you know!
> 
> Also, Nils = Norway if it wasn't obvious.


	6. Punch Down

_This term is used to refer to the point when bread dough has doubled in its size, or when two fingers pressing lightly into the dough will leave a marked dent. Punching down a dough is done by touching the dough with the fingers, making a fist, and pushing it down into the center of the dough before pulling the dough edges into this lowered center and turning the dough over. Repeat twice and cover the dough, let it rest or rise again before it is shaped into a loaf._

 

Saturday night found them on Hans’ couch, the remains of dinner resting on the coffee table alongside half-finished glasses of scotch. Laughing at some mindless comedy which neither of them had any real attachment to, poking fun at the poor acting and ridiculous plot.

The tension between them seemed to have eased off a little over the past few hours, though there was still caution in Hans’ movements as he leant forward to take a sip of his drink.

He picked up the remote, gesturing toward the scrolling credits. “Another movie?”

Ludwig glanced at the time and nodded, letting his head rest back against the couch. “Just one more.”

By the end of the third film Ludwig’s eyelids were beginning to get heavier, the clock on the mantle reading regretfully late, and he excused himself with a low sigh.

He paused by the door, swaying slightly. Almost thoughtfully, he said: “Thank you.”

“For what?” Hans peered at him over the back of the couch, and Ludwig had to think for a moment to remember what he was going to say. Funny what three drinks and no sleep could do. He stared down at the floor, magazines strewn across the carpet. The apartment was a pigsty; even tipsy, Ludwig was a little disgusted. Hans did say he had a roommate, but that couldn’t account for all the mess…

Oh, right.

“For being a friend to me,” he answered at last, looking back up.

Hans shook his head, smiling to himself, and told him to get some sleep.

 

Tuesday was better. With a solid night’s sleep under his belt, Ludwig had spent the last three days feeling unbearably embarrassed by that closing comment, but Hans had thankfully not brought it up when he arrived that afternoon.

Ludwig rolled pastry into thin strips, laying a lattice with care across the surface of the pie. It was something he hadn’t attempted before, but he had memorised the recipe before coming and had every confidence that it would go well. He sprinkled cinnamon across the top, nodding to himself.

Hans sat with a sketchpad laid across his knees, butterscotch scrolls cooking in the oven beside him. Ludwig could see the page from where he was; with a jolt, he recognised it as the messy floorplan of a building. Two rooms, the smaller back one lined with what he presumed were benches and ovens.

A bakery, there was no doubt. Hans’ bakery.

As if on cue, Hans glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey- do you think it’s better to have tables inside for people to sit, or out the front?”

“It’s your bakery, don’t ask me,” Ludwig replied without thinking. Hans looked a little taken aback, and so he cleared his throat before continuing. “Inside, but only one. You don’t want it to be cramped.”

Perking up again, Hans nodded quickly and scribbled something down on the pad.

Ludwig turned away, quietly moving his things to the opposite countertop so he didn’t have to watch any longer.

 

He burnt the pie.

The sickly-sweet smell of singed apples lingered in his nostrils hours later. He was still trying to scrub it off his hands when Gilbert poked his head around the door of the bathroom, looking apologetic as he pushed past him to reach the toilet. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. Neighbour called; Frederick’s gotten out, he’s flying around their living room and shitting on the carpet. Serves the priss right, but I should go get him.”

He looked back at him. “Think you can tackle some emails from the department? It’s just the usual stuff, plus paperwork to do with that molestation case.”

Ludwig didn’t know why he hesitated. It was only routine, after all, and he could hardly help an escaped bird. “Yes, of course.”

“Thanks, bro. Know I can always count on you.” Gilbert shot him a grin and a wink before turning back around, kicking the cubicle door shut with his heel.

Ludwig washed his hands briskly once more before exiting the bathroom, but the smell wouldn’t leave.

 

A week passed, and he found himself back in the kitchens. He had chosen something simple this time; lemon drizzle cake, a recipe he couldn’t possibly ruin.

Despite this precaution, his mind continued to wander.

Three more years of university, only three. He’d have his degree before the age of twenty-four.

He’d been planning this since primary school. He had never thought about why, never had reason to question it.

Not until now.

But that was what he wanted. That’s what he had always wanted.

Right?

 He thought of the office on the corner of the block. Doing the morning post run and grabbing them all coffee from the nearest café, Gilbert making paper planes and flying them into the back of his head. Poring over case documents, sending off emails in crisp and perfect formality. Surrounded by family, as familiar as breathing.

That was a good thing, surely.

But then, he thought of his brother: surrounded by paperwork, speaking in clipped tones to one client down the phone while another waited in reception, a never-ending stream of people clamouring for his help. He thought of his father: barely managing to get out for lunch, rarely home for dinner, scarfing down half a sandwich in the sparse moments between it all.

He thought of the cases which didn’t end well. The mothers sobbing in the benches as their abusers were released, the deaths caused by corruption and negligence, the children who grew up far too quickly in those small courtrooms, and he felt physically sick.

The realisation hit him like a pile of bricks, and he sagged against his chair.

He didn’t want that.

The work would be easy for him. He had always prided himself for his ability to work under stress, putting his own emotions and beliefs aside…but all of a sudden, he was realising that he didn’t want to.

He didn’t.

He…

He closed his eyes, losing grip on the countertop as his vision turned to black.

 

“Hey, Lud! Café around the corner was selling muffins for a dollar, I got us four each.”

Hans grinned, adjusting the handles of the grocery bags on his arm, though his smile faltered as he took in the empty room. He wasn’t there? But the oven was on, he could see the light even from where he was. Rounding the counter, his heart thudded to a halt.

He dropped the bags and rushed over to the crumpled heap on the floor, falling to his knees behind Ludwig and laying a hand on his shoulder. The worst scenarios immediately leapt to mind; a heart attack, a stroke, Ludwig probably had high blood pressure already with all the stressing he did, it could be anything, why the fuck wasn’t he moving?

After a few moments of horrified panic, the shock faded enough for Hans to register the slow rise and fall of Ludwig’s side. He bowed his head, letting out a shaky breath. Thank god. He laid a hand over his temple, noting the absence of a temperature with relief, and swallowed tightly as his eyes flickered open. They were tired and swollen, a burst vessel spilling red across the whites, but his pupils widened as they focused on his face.

Hans offered a reassuring smile, rubbing his shoulder gently. “You all right there, bud?”

It was a stupid question, Hans realised belatedly, as Ludwig broke eye contact and pushed himself into a sitting position. He sat there but did not move, looking momentarily dizzy; Hans stayed beside him, hands hovering close by in case he fainted again.

“Hey, you need to lay down. What happened there?”

“Nothing.” Ludwig turned his head away, moving to stand again, but Hans put both hands on his shoulders. He continued to avoid his eyes, expression blank and carefully controlled.

“Ludwig, I’m serious, sit down. You need to rest, I’ll call your father or something if I need to-”

That calm composure shattered. Ludwig looked up at him, eyes wild and angry.

“I can’t rest, don’t you understand?” He clawed his fingers through his hair, knuckles white. “My parents expect me to take over from them – Gilbert’s already almost finished his degree, and I know he wants me to do more than I am-” he broke off, breathing fast. “And I need to get a respectable job, so I have enough money to support myself, and that’s my best option, and-”

“Ludwig, calm down.” Despite Hans’ soothing tone the words seemed to have the opposite effect; Ludwig’s face crumpled, voice rising, petulance mixed with desperation.

“I’ve always wanted- I always thought I wanted that, but talking to you…it made me realise that I don’t.”

Hans reached for his hand, prying it away from his hair before he could rip it out, and Ludwig was too far gone to feel ashamed for latching onto that small comfort. “I don’t, I…” His final words sounded choked. “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”

For a long, terrible minute Hans just stared, watching him struggle to breathe.

But then, he understood. Ludwig’s carefully measured patience, his hesitance to talk about his hobbies, the way he outright avoided any talk of work. Lashing out when he was questioned, not angry at all but _frightened_ , and now Hans cursed himself for being so blind.

 

Ludwig was talking again. “They’ve always expected so much from me, they all do,” He said bitterly, looking up at the ceiling and blinking faster. “They never say it outright, but it’s always there. They expect me to be the lawyer my dad is, my grandfather was. Well, maybe I don’t want to be that person. Maybe I can’t!”

 “Maybe you don’t have to be.”

Ludwig looked at him, still fighting back tears, and Hans squeezed his hand gently. “Maybe you can just be Ludwig. And maybe that’s good enough.”

He smiled, softly and a little sadly.

And Ludwig cried. Loudly, messily, harder than he had in years, wiping tears and snot away with the back of his hand and bowing his back as if shielding himself from an invisible blow.

Hans crouched there dumbly for a moment, frozen in place from sheer shock. He moved slowly to sit beside him on the floor, rubbing his thumb against the back of his hand, not looking at him as he began to speak. “Lud…I mean, I’m not good at this. I’m not the most logical kind of guy, you know that.” He paused, taking a breath. “But working in a job you don’t enjoy, I just don’t see the sense in that.

“What is it you want out of life? Money? Why should that stuff even matter?” He shook his head. “Wouldn’t you rather enjoy your life, even if you’re not doing the ‘best’ job in the world? That’s what I figure.”

He took a deep breath. “Look…I shouldn’t have pushed you, with the whole baking thing. I didn’t understand what was going through your head. Mum has always been really supportive of me: whatever I decided to do was cool with her, so long as I was happy doing it. I guess I just assumed everyone else’s parents would be the same.” He scratched at the back of his neck, looking around the kitchen. “I can’t really say how they’ll react…but they’re your family, right? At the end of the day, they just want you to be happy.” He sighed, clapping his free hand onto Ludwig’s shoulder. “And you said it yourself; you won’t be happy working there.”

 “It doesn’t matter if I’m happy,” Ludwig protested weakly.

A slow sigh. “Ludwig. You are stubborn, hard headed, and about as thick as they come. But I know that even you don’t believe that.”

 

Poised outside his brother’s room, Ludwig sent Hans a single text.

_Telling him._

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Gilbert was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his cockatiel perched on one shoulder and Frederick the budgie – thankfully recovered without injury from the neighbour’s house – resting on his knee. He was scrolling through his phone with one hand, the other spinning his flute between three fingers, but he glanced up and set both down when Ludwig entered.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Gilbert raised one brow, gesturing to the bed beside him. “Shoot.”

He hesitated before taking the offer, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “It’s about my degree.”

“This again?” Gilbert laughed, shaking his head. “You had me worried for a second there. But I thought you were over this by now, you’re doing fine! Three years and you’ll be out with the big guns, best solicitor this town’s ever seen.”

When Ludwig didn’t respond, Gilbert hesitated. “That…is what you want, right?”

His brother was many things: an industrious worker, a party animal, a musician, a maniac. But ‘dense’ had never been one of them. Ludwig’s breath caught. Before he could stop himself, be began to bluster. “Well, Law is an important field, and the basis of our society. It would be a fulfilling career-”

“That’s not what I was asking.” Gilbert cut him off, voice stern. On his shoulder, the cockatiel ruffled up its feathers. “Do you actually want to be a solicitor? Will you be happy as one?”

“Happiness is not-”

“Answer the question.”

Ludwig took a deep breath. When he spoke, the room was as quiet as the grave. “No.”

He had prepared himself for anger, but it still caught him by surprise when Gilbert groaned and buried his face in his hands. He started forward, breath catching in his throat. “Gilbert…”

“Why didn’t you tell me this!” his brother exclaimed suddenly, his tone strained with disbelief. “Why the hell are you going into a career you hate?”

“You’re…not mad?”

Gilbert grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I am absolutely furious that you didn’t tell me sooner,” he told him, and the younger practically collapsed under the weight of his relief.

Their embrace was awkward, strained thin by a childhood of half-hugs and slaps on the back, and one of the birds was now chewing on his hair. But Ludwig felt himself convulse in a shudder, and had to force down his emotions as he rested his head against his brother’s shoulder.

“So.” Gilbert pulled back after a few long moments, watching him intently. “You don’t want to be a lawyer. What do you want to be, then?”

Ludwig was shocked by how ready the answer was on his tongue.

 

Outside Hans’ apartment, the carpet reduced his footfalls to silence. He raised one hand to knock, then hesitated. Fist only centimetres from the wood.

Would Hans even agree?

That was one problem he hadn’t considered. But now, thinking about it, he realised how real the possibility was.

Ludwig had rejected the proposal already. Perhaps he’d already found someone else to replace him, someone better; perhaps he was prepared to do it by himself.

The longer he stood there, the more he felt ridiculous for even attempting, for even thinking…

The click of a lock. The door swung open.

“Ludwig?”

Hans paused mid-step, keys in hand and one leg hovering almost comically off the ground. Surprise faded into confusion, and he closed the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to ask you something.”

Hans raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m all ears.”

Ludwig took a deep breath. “You were right. I didn’t want to listen, I didn’t want to accept that I had any options other than those I had been given. But I was wrong. I’ve spoken to my brother, and my father, and they both said the same thing. I’ve started thinking about what I want…and I know what that is, now.”

Hans’ tone was hesitant, hardly daring to hope. “What are you trying to say, Lud?”

He took a deep breath, let it out. “I want to work with you.”


	7. Proofing

___Also called proving or, more rarely, blooming, this term is used by bakers to refer to a time when dough is left resting so it can rise. In many basic yeast bread recipes, the dough will be proofed two times. The first proofing will be in a covered bowl. The second and final proofing, after the dough is punched down, will be in a bread pan. This is the final rise of shaped bread dough before baking._

  
  
Hans groaned, burying his head in his arms. “Fuck, my head feels like it’s going to explode.”

Ludwig looked up from his writing. “Well, I don’t want that.”

The other raised his head, cracking a smile despite the pain. “You don’t want my head to explode?” he questioned in mock disbelief. “Never would’ve imagined.”

Ludwig kept his voice neutral as he replied. “No. Too messy.”

Hans laughed, boisterous and open. He received another dirty look from the librarian for that, but fortunately she didn’t come out from behind her desk; even if he wasn’t going to be continuing his degree, Ludwig still needed the university’s resources until the end of the semester. “Ah, it’s good to know you care.”

“And there are painkillers in my bag.”

“Thanks, Lud.” Hans hooked a leg under the table to pull the bag over to him, rummaging through it until he found the packet. “So, any progress on the legal stuff?”

Ludwig nodded, looking down at his notes. “We’ll need to register the business as a partnership, but I can draw up the documents for us if you like - we could legally do it through a verbal agreement, but I would rather have a copy on paper. Since it won’t be incorporated, we’ll avoid most of the taxes, however we’ll be responsible for paying off our debts, so be mindful of that.” Ludwig stopped, realising belatedly that Hans was staring at him.

“Ho-ly shit. And here I was thinking we’d have to hire someone to do all of that stuff. Guess all that studying’s going to come in handy for us, yeah?”

“It’s simple business law,” Ludwig muttered a little self-consciously, but nodded. It was a nice thought, that his work hadn’t been for naught, that it could still help them in this new venture. He glanced down at his notes again. Yes, this was something he could do.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the attention. Before he could speak a quiet voice sounded out from behind him, flat and unassuming.

“Not like you to be doing paperwork, Hans.”

Ludwig looked over his shoulder. The man was short, fair curls hanging down over half of his face, and he glanced at Ludwig dismissively before looking back at Hans.

 “Buddy! Thought you’d turn up. Here, take a seat.” Hans pulled out the chair beside him, patting it lightly. The man sat down, crossing his arms loosely.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Hans blinked. "Right! This is Nils. He and Berry - he's that grumpy-looking one over there who’s spent the last half hour staring down the crafts section; don't worry, that's just his face - we've known each other since kindergarten. They're absolute arseholes at times,” a quiet huff from the man sitting opposite, “but they’re good friends. Just don't listen to any stories they tell you about me."

"Oh, but you give us so much good material." It was hard to tell if Nils was joking or not, his voice flat and a little mocking. Hans laughed again, though, so Ludwig decided to take that as a positive.

Nils reached to pluck the page Hans was holding from between his fingers. “Recipes,” he read aloud, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at the two of them.

Hans grinned. "Ludwig and I are going to open a bakery together!"

"Are you?" Nils looked at Ludwig appraisingly. His flat stare was supremely unnerving; Ludwig broke eye contact quickly. He felt a little like a lab specimen under a microscope, being scrutinised so closely.

Thankfully after a moment or two Nils seemed to have made his judgement, giving a short nod which Ludwig hoped was approval.

"Finally doing it, then. Good.” He turned back to Hans. “How are you planning to get started?”

"Well, we figure we'll advertise first. Get our name out there, flyers and word-of-mouth and all that stuff. That’s where you come in: think you can get the word out to your Uni?”

Nils simply raised an eyebrow, and Hans grinned. “I know you will, just wanted to check. I’ll drop by your place once the flyers are ready, then. We'll have to take out a loan to buy the building itself but we can do it. You’ve seen the place, it’s perfect. I just know it." He smiled again, reaching out to flick the corner of the page Nils held. "Go on, take a look at our menu so far. If you think of anything else we should add, let me know."

Nils scanned the list, giving another nod. He reached for the pencil, clicking his fingers; Hans handed it to him, and he scribbled down a few notes on the page. When he handed it back, Hans started to laugh.

"All right, all right. I'll make you an extra batch come opening, if you promise to help us set up."

Nils pretended to consider the offer, before nodding. "You drive a hard bargain, but I’ll accept." A faint glimmer of amusement crossed his face, almost a smirk.

"And about the second thing, you can keep your snarky mouth shut."

Nils did smirk, then, leaning back in his chair as Hans pointed an accusing finger. "I know you too well, Hans."

"Yeah, that you do." He gave a little chuckle, relenting, and tilted back onto the back legs of his chair. "All right, so one box of butter cookies reserved for my nicest, sweetest, most bestest friend," he added as an aside to Ludwig, expression entirely serious, before dissolving into laughter again at Nils' disgruntled expression.

Ludwig watched the friends, amused. Nils left them alone soon after, disappearing amongst the shelves, and Hans shuffled around to his side of the table so he could show him the drafted menu. Although, Ludwig couldn’t help but notice that the second part of what Nils had written had been blacked out with marker. He added a few things of his own, but soon they had little else to do but relax until they had to part ways: Hans to the bar, Ludwig to the firm. He couldn’t help but be pleased; the afternoon had been a resounding success.

Of course, that meant that things immediately took a turn for the worse.

 

“This one.”

“No windows, it looks like a prison.”

“This one.”

 “Too old. Probably filled with asbestos.”

Ludwig sighed, turning to the next article which he had underlined. “How about this one.”

Hans frowned, staring at it for a long moment. “It’s too…small.”

Ludwig resisted the urge to slam his head against the table. “It’s the same size as the first one I showed you. Which, might I add, you said was too big.”

“It was!” Hans defended, crossing his arms.

They’d found out two days earlier, the night following their little work session. Ludwig had been stretched out along the couch with the phone tucked against his shoulder, listening to Hans laugh along with a story he was telling and idly thumbing through the newspaper, until suddenly the other broke off into silence midway through his description of a customer’s pet poodle. At Ludwig’s questioning he had cleared his throat, lapsing into silence again for a few seconds before speaking.

_“The place I told you about, when we first met? It sold today.”_

Naturally, Ludwig had agreed to search for somewhere new, trying to console him, but every place he had found had been immediately and vehemently rejected.

Now, Ludwig was trying to be patient. Hans was clearly still torn up over the sale of his dream, it was natural for him to be defensive. But how much time did they have? He was signing out of university in a few weeks, once his final exams for the semester were over. Hans would soon hand in his notice of resignation at the bar, leaving himself without income. They couldn’t afford to waste time.

Hans interrupted his thoughts, chewing on his lower lip. “Is that it?”

“That’s everywhere within our budget.”

Ludwig watched him slump in his seat, features slackening under the weight of his disappointment. “You couldn’t have expected it to stay forever,” he started, trying to console him.

Hans wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know. It’s just…I’ve been watching the place for so long, sure that one day I’d buy it. Feels weird to know that it’s gone.”

“I know.” He let out a sigh and looked down at the newspaper clippings once more, eyes landing on a red asterisk he had scribbled off to the side of one article. He hadn’t wanted to consider it, thinking it wasn’t worth the risk, but in light of Hans’ dejection he needed to do something. “There is…one more.”

The other man peered up at him hesitantly, so Ludwig continued. “It’s a little out of our price range, but we might be able to talk them down. It’s been on the market for six months now; the owners went bankrupt, which is not good news, however...”

He trailed off as Hans straightened, reaching for the page. Ludwig handed it over, watching him bite his cheek as he read over the information.

“It’s a lot of money.”

“Yes.”

Hans tapped two fingers against the page. “This address. That’s just…what, four or five blocks from here?”

Ludwig leaned forward, rereading the small script. “Even closer.”

There was silence for a long time, and he was beginning to get anxious when Hans raised his head. A strange and compelling sense of relief spread over him as he saw a brilliant smile stretch across those lips.

“When’s the next open house?”

 

The next open house, as it turned out, was that weekend.

All in all, it wasn’t as bad as Ludwig had thought. Good for the price, definitely – it passed all the health codes with flying colours, or at least it would once you could see the counters beyond all the dust. He ran a finger through it, lips twisting into a faint frown, but he couldn’t stay disappointed for long. Not when the place was so large, a welcoming front room with glass display cabinets and a suitably-sized bakery out back.

Hans looked up at him from where he’d been examining the floorboards, and they exchanged a nervous smile.

Was this it, then?

Not much had to be said. They continued to look about, perhaps each trying to find the inevitable catch. Surely there had to be one. There had to be something, some reason to say no. Surely nothing could be this perfect.

There was a table and chairs, only one. Ludwig nearly laughed at that, remembering their previous conversation. Hans clearly did too, smiling as he crouched down by the little café-style table, examining the state of the chairs before – with a wide grin stretching his lips –  declaring them usable. Once they were cleaned up, at least.

In all honesty, it was hard to see why this place had gone out of business. Busy enough street, and the people they had passed were friendly. The greengrocer two doors down seemed to be doing well. It made Ludwig a little worried, but he told himself he was just being ridiculous.

Yes, perhaps.

They checked out the equipment out back – once again in decent condition for its age, though the whole place definitely needed a good scrub. Four good-size industrial ovens, lots of counter space. He fought back the urge to grin as they headed back out to the car, thanking the real estate agent along the way.

“So?”

Ludwig looked back over at the building, then smiled. “Yes, I think so. Do you?”

“Definitely.” Hans hadn’t stopped grinning since they left the place; he leant back in the car seat, sighing. “Best place we’ve seen so far, and the price isn’t that bad.”

“Doesn’t need much work,” Ludwig added, gaze flicking back to Hans.

“In a good area.”

“And it has been on the market for a while, they’ll be willing to accept the closest offer.”

They let the conversation hang for a moment, excitement rising in both their chests.

“This is it, then? We’re doing it?”

Ludwig let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”


	8. Baking Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!  
> Apologies, I ended up rewriting this chapter from scratch a total of five times. Hopefully the finished product is to your liking!

_The process of baking a pie crust or other pastry without the filling in preparation of it being filled. Blind baking a pie crust is necessary when it will be filled with an unbaked filling, for example pudding or cream, in which case the crust must be fully baked._

_Sometimes the crust will be lined with foil or paper and filled with pie-weights such as ceramic or metal beads, rice, dried peas, or lentils, while another method involves spiking the crust with the tines of a fork._

 

“Don’ need payment.”

“Berwald. I’m not letting you do it for free, we both know this will take you at least a few weeks.”

Berwald made a noncommittal noise, fingers tracing over the designs laid out for him. Well, not so much designs as rough sketches, really, photographs of the chairs and table which were now stacked in his workroom and notes scribbled across the pages in Hans’ messy script. “One week,” he allowed, gears already whirring to life. “Ten days if you want new cushions.”

It was certainly doable. Sand them down, give them a fresh coat of paint or stain, new upholstery to match, and they would hardly be recognisable.

“Two weeks it is, then.” Hans nodded, tracing a finger along the designs with a smile. “That’ll work out well, we’re planning to open on the sixteenth. Honestly, though, name your price.”

“Friends. Doesn’t feel right.”

A groan. “Buddy…”

“Figure it out after,” he bargained, beginning to fold the plans carefully.

“Okay, okay.” Hans frowned, that frown that Berwald knew meant he wasn’t giving up so easily. He attempted to distract him, clearing his throat.

"Need advice. Have to pick up a reference book for a new piece...library doesn't have it."

Hans thought for a moment, then tapped his fingers quickly along the benchtop. "Have you tried Sleeping Nook? It’s this tiny bookstore down near the university campus, just a couple blocks east." His old chess group had met there, he recalled. It was small, quiet, a nice little reprieve from the outside world, and the staff were always friendly. “Ask for Toris, he’ll help you out,” he added, remembering the man with a faint smile.

Berwald paused, committing the instructions to memory, then nodded. "Thanks."

"Not a problem, bud." Hans sighed, leaning against the desk. “Man, I can’t wait until all of this running about is over and done with, I just want to start already,” he complained. “How did you handle it before your carpentry stuff picked up?”

“Will let you know when it does,” Berwald replied, shaking his head. “Need patience.”

“I’ve got patience.”

A pause.

“Are you fucking laughing at me, Berwald?”

 

It really was a lot of running around at that point. The way things were going, Hans would be finishing up at the bar a total of two days before they opened; he was struck with an odd sense of sadness as he handed in his notice of resignation that evening, giving his boss a shrug and a smile. The job was never meant to be a permanent thing, he knew that from the start…but he’d enjoyed it, finding the raucous atmosphere of the place almost homely. It might be odd, but he was really going to miss it.

He got a text as he was driving home. Pulling into the apartment parking lot, he walked upstairs to find Ludwig leaning against his door with a cardboard box rested on the floor by his feet. Before he could speak Hans nodded to the door, pulling out his keys. “Come on in, how long you been waiting for?”

“Seventeen minutes,” Ludwig answered simply, stooping to pick up the box before following him inside. “I thought you would be home earlier.”

“Would’ve been, but I stayed back late to talk with the boss,” he answered, shrugging as they made their way into the main room. He flicked on the light as they went, yawning softly.

“Sorry.”

Hans chuckled. “Don’t worry about it! Guessing this is something for the bakery?”

Ludwig nodded, sitting down, and dumped the box onto the coffee table between them. “Flyers,” he explained as he opened it, noting his questioning look.

Hans eagerly grabbed one from the top of the pile, turning it over in his hands. “These are pretty great! Who designed them?”

“A friend of mine from university, Feliciano.” Ludwig smiled faintly as he scanned the logo. Feliciano had spent hours agonising over it, wanting every detail to be perfect.

“He’s quite the designer, then. I’ll have to thank him.”

“You’ll get your chance soon; he’s coming to help us set up for opening.”

“You recruited him?”

Ludwig laughed shortly. “More like he recruited himself, actually. I’ve assisted him in the past, I suppose he saw this as his chance to repay me.”

“Sweet! I’ll take them ‘round to the local stores tomorrow, and Nils said he’d spread the word at Uni if I give him a pile. Maybe drop off some samples with it, though he might just eat them…I took the chairs to Berwald today, too – he says he can do them within two weeks, so we should be set for opening.”

“Good.” Ludwig closed his eyes, voice lowering to a murmur. “Everything’s happening so fast…”

Hans clapped a hand down on his forearm, seeing the panic starting to coil in Ludwig’s shoulders. “Hey. We can do this, all right?”

Ludwig nodded again, letting out a breath. He reached a hand up, laying his fingers over Hans’. “Thank you.”

Hans cracked a smile. “Hey: if all else fails, we could always become prostitutes,” he suggested, laughing at Ludwig’s incredulous expression. “You’re too easy to tease. Come on, I’ll order dinner.”

“I shouldn’t keep you, I’m sure you’re busy…”

“Nah, I’ll just be staring at these beauties all night. Come on, it’s cause for celebration. Chinese food and cheap beer it is!”

The flyers lay between them while they ate, block script proclaiming the name of the bakery in bold letters. That had been the hardest thing, Hans thought. Even though he’d been planning this all his life, and had spent many years deliberating over what name to give the place, he’d never once landed on the one which felt right. It had to be perfect. Something short but sweet, a singular word or phrase that could sum up an entire lifetime of hope and work and joy – it seemed like an impossible ask. When Ludwig joined the picture it became even more difficult. They had traded a few ideas back and forth but almost instantly hit a wall, unable to agree on what they wanted.

It had been Ludwig who had come back a day or two later, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he approached Hans with a clipboard full of names. Like something out of a storybook, it was the last one on the list that they finally chose.

 _Eile mit Weile_. More haste, less speed. Made not a lick of goddamn sense to Hans when Ludwig first said it, but after finding out its meaning…he kind of liked the phrase.

Don’t rush. Take things slowly, see your goal but don’t forget to focus on the world around it. Stop and smell the proverbial roses, have some fun along the way. Would’ve been nonsense to the Ludwig he first met, Hans had thought privately, but decided not to voice it.

More haste, less speed.

Yeah, he liked that.

“So, any progress on the financial stuff?” he asked, reaching to grab another piece of sesame seed toast.

“They accepted our offer, so I assume that’s that.” Ludwig frowned down at his plate. “I’ll have the documents by next week, so we’ll simply have to meet up and sign them. It’s a lot of money, but if we pool our savings and get a low enough interest rate on the loan…” he worried his lower lip between his teeth, but nodded. “We should be able to pay it back.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before he added, “In a few decades.”

Chuckling, Hans plucked his glass off the table and took a sip. “All right, ‘nuff about that for the night.”

Although Ludwig nodded his agreement, there was a question that had been in the back of his mind for a while. He was quiet for a moment or two before voicing it. “Did you ever consider asking anyone else to run the bakery with you, before me?”

Hans didn’t seem bothered by the question, shrugging. “I once asked Nils, but he wasn’t too interested.”

“Nils?”

“Yeah! He can bake pretty well, actually, there’s this recipe for skolebrød that’s been in his family forever. His mother used to make them for us whenever I stayed over – I swear, it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.” Hans had an almost dreamy look on his face at the thought. “What I’d do to get that recipe…but he guards it with his life.”

Ludwig huffed a laugh. “I thought nobody was a better baker than you?”

Hans shrugged, smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t really say that anymore, I’m working with you after all.”

Ludwig didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he took another sip of his beer.

 

They had planned the opening of the bakery for the Saturday. On Thursday morning they found themselves carrying boxes of cleaning products and paint in from the car, Ludwig walking double-time in what Hans recognised almost fondly as worry. They didn’t have the budget for any huge changes, so a new paint job would have to do - but along with the refurbished chairs and table which should be arriving with Berwald at noon, it was a pretty good start.

They’d chosen great colours, too, Hans thought. White and red and cream, like strawberry tarts. Plus, he had to show a little national pride.

Once they’d brought everything inside the two of them took a walk down the street, greeting the new neighbours and handing out small packages of baked goods as both a present and advertisement. Ludwig seemed stressed about leaving a good impression, but Hans was pretty sure that once they tasted the stuff that it was already guaranteed.

In the end, they had everything prepared almost an hour ahead of schedule, and Hans was busy teasing Ludwig for being so fretful when there came a knock at the window.

The blinds were down, so Ludwig walked out the front to see who it was; as soon as he did, a blur shot through the doorway and tackled him into a hug. Legs wrapping around Ludwig’s waist to anchor himself in place.

Ludwig seemed taken aback, exclaiming shortly, and stumbled under the force of it.

“Feliciano! I’ve told you not to jump on me like that,” he scolded, letting him down. The man laughed happily, brushing his shirt flat.

“Sorry! It’s just too fun to resist!”

Amused, Hans wandered over to the two.

“Who’s this?” He looked at Feliciano, noting his laughing eyes and shock of unruly auburn hair, and decided quite instantly that he liked the man. He looked over to Ludwig. “Wait, is this the artist friend you were telling me about? The one who designed all the signage for us?”

“The very same.”

“Mmhm! Not my usual work, but I wouldn’t miss a chance to help Luddy.” Feliciano looked Hans up and down, pausing. “Wow, and he wasn’t lying.”

“Uh…Lying about what?”

His only response was a cheeky grin, and Feliciano glanced around again. “The place is gorgeous! I’m so happy for you two.” He turned to Hans. “You know, he’s been wanting to do this since kindergarten.”

“Feliciano…” Ludwig’s tone was a warning.

“He asked for recipe books every Christmas.”

“Feliciano.”

“And he wore this cute little apron to school.”

“Feliciano!”

Feliciano laughed and then leant closer to Hans, as if telling him a secret. “He used to sell cupcakes to the other kids at recess,” he stage-whispered, laughing again when Ludwig flushed beet red.

Hans was laughing too, nudging Ludwig in the side. “I like your friend.”

A huff. “Just wait, he’ll talk your ear off if you give him the time.”

“Sounds like we’ll get on well!” Hans cheered; Ludwig couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “So, you’re at the same University Lud left? What’s your major?”

“Visual and Performing Arts,” Feliciano replied proudly. “I’m mainly focused on painting and musical theatre, though.”

“Y’know, somehow I’m not surprised.” Hans chuckled, shaking his head. Straightening up, he clapped him on the back. “Now c’mon, let’s celebrate. We kept the gift pastries which ended up wonky, since Lud’s such a stickler for perfection – there’s enough to go around.”

“Hope you’re including me on that.”

Hans spun around. Nils was leaning against the doorframe, an unfathomable look in his eyes.

"You came!"

"Did you expect me not to?" He pushed himself away from the door, accepting Hans' offered hug with a soft little sigh. He looked around once they parted, taking in the interior of the place. "Got yourself a nice place here, then."

Hans nodded, grinning. "Do you like the logo? Ludwig's friend here designed it for us. He's a pretty good artist, don't ya think?" Feliciano gave them a proud smile, looking up at the signage.

“Hm. I like the colours,” Nils told him after a moment.

Ludwig cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to cut things short, but there is work to be done.”

Hans clapped his hands together. “Yes, right! I’ll just grab us some-” He was cut off by a light hand on his arm.

“Before you go running off. Here.”

Nils held something out. It was a plain, lined sheet of paper, folded into quarters. Hans’ brow furrowed, but then his eyes shot open wide and he stared at the page as if it was made of solid gold. “Is…that what I think it is?”

“Read it for yourself.”

Hans took it from him, handling the page as gently as if it were made of ice. He unfolded it carefully, an expression of awe on his face as he skimmed over the writing.

“I trust you won’t ruin it completely?” Nils raised an eyebrow.

Hans shook his head, carefully refolding it and slipping it into his breast pocket. “Holy shit…I’ll keep it safe.”

Nils glanced around again, as if searching for something. “Where are my biscuits?”

Hans grabbed the box off the counter, shaking it lightly in answer; Nils reached out, but he yanked it back. “Nope. You get these _after_ you help, you cheeky bastard.”

Ludwig half expected the man to react with anger, but after a moment the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “You know me well.”

“That I do.” Grinning, Hans ran to grab the paintbrushes from the back room, slamming the box down on the counter hard enough to make them all jump. “All right. Grab a brush, let’s get to work!”

Ludwig chose to clean the old equipment while the rest of them painted – which was probably a good thing, actually, because Hans had left most of the tarp at home and Feliciano managed to knock over one of the paint tins. When Berwald pulled up out front at midday he joined in without question.

Through the course of the day they managed to cover almost the entire bakery, stopping for lunch at around two in the afternoon and quite literally watching paint dry. By the time they finished the sun was close to the horizon, and all five of them finally collapsed in various spots on the floor and pavement in mutual exhaustion.

The place looked amazing.

Hans wrapped an arm around Ludwig’s waist in his excitement, squeezing him to his side, eyes blown wide as he took it all in. The table and chairs had come out nicely, dark stained wood and vibrant upholstery. He’d have to remember to thank Berwald again for that one. The fresh coat of paint had done wonders, too; it definitely stood out amongst the other worn storefronts which lined the street.

A couple of locals had stopped by to see what all the commotion was about – Hans had descended on them immediately with a friendly grin and his unique brand of easy camaraderie, sending them off with flyers and promises of free biscuits if they showed up to the grand opening.

Eventually someone had to break the silence. Hans was first, looking over at Ludwig and smiling to himself as he noticed the streak of red paint across his jaw. “So, we ordering pizzas or what?”

Nils nodded, eyes closing briefly. “No pineapple.”

Hans ordered the pizza and then joined in on the tidying-up, sweeping out the leftover dust and grime and washing paint drips off the floor before they could dry. Predictably, Ludwig freaked out when he saw the mess, so Hans wisely chose to get out of the way as he rushed about.

Finally the food arrived and they settled down on the grass outside for an early dinner, during which Nils broke the box of pineapple pizza over Hans’ head.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Usually updates Tuesday (AEST).  
> Let me know what you think! Comments and criticism are encouraged.


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